


with you, a girl could get bolder (i just wanna be a little bit closer)

by dirtyhelen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (Dubious Consent Due to Sex Pollen), Angst, Aphrodisiacs, Blow Jobs, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Loss of Virginity, Porn With Plot, Reader-Insert, Sex Pollen, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27610754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtyhelen/pseuds/dirtyhelen
Summary: For a single moment there is absolute silence as you and Bucky stare down at the broken glass and the silvery mist rising from it with shocking speed and volume.“Oh, fuck.”You and Bucky get hit with an extremely powerful aphrodisiac, resulting in some mind-blowing (but dubiously consensual) sex on a quinjet. And if sleeping with a coworker in a drug-fueled haze wasn’t bad enough, you’ve also had an unrequited crush on him for months.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 46
Kudos: 431





	1. can you feel it?

**Author's Note:**

> My first multi-chapter fic! My first attempt at something resembling a plot (though I admit, the plot is not what you would call thick). There will be 3 parts, about 15k total. Work and chapter titles are from Want You In My Room by Carly Rae Jepsen.

“Thanks, Steve,” you say as he sets your bag in one of the quinjet’s storage compartments. Ever the gentleman, he’d insisted on carrying your luggage for you, since he was headed the same way anyway.  
  
Just a few minutes ago the jet was bustling with technicians packing away carefully labelled silver briefcases, but now it’s just you, Steve, Bucky, and Bruce.  
  
Bucky is headed to Wakanda, summoned by Shuri with the promise of impressive new upgrades for his arm. The briefcases are samples of chemical solutions the Avengers recently confiscated from an enemy base. They’re also headed to Wakanda, to be examined in one of the country’s laboratories even Tony - begrudgingly – has to admit are more advanced than his own.  
  
Along the way, Bucky will be dropping you in Zurich to meet up with Pepper. She’s attending a fancy business retreat there and snagged you an invite under the guise of professional development and maintaining the relationship between Stark Industries and the Avengers. As though being married to Iron Man isn’t enough to cement that relationship. Really, she just hates being outnumbered by arrogant, misogynistic billionaires and wants the company.  
  
You’re certainly not complaining. A chance to eat ridiculously expensive food and shit talk gross old men in view of the Swiss Alps? Beats running around after the team, keeping track of a thousand conflicting schedules and chasing down late mission reports.  
  
You spend another minute or two idly chatting with Steve and Bruce as Bucky makes himself busy at the instrument panel. The jet can basically fly itself, but you suspect Bucky gets a bit of a thrill any time he gets to be in the cockpit, tech nerd that he is.  
  
“You sure you have everything?” Steve asks you with a teasing smirk. “It’s a whole two days, you know. Pretty sure that requires _at least_ a dozen books.”  
  
“Oh, har-har,” you grumble. “God, you overpack _one_ time and it turns into a whole thing!”  
  
“Didn’t you take like four pairs of shoes and two books for a day trip?” Bruce calls as he walks down the ramp, heading back to the lab, you’re sure.  
  
“It was _three_ pairs and you can’t always rely on weather forecasts!” you shout after him.  
  
Steve jokingly rolls his eyes. “Of course. And the books?”  
  
“Two is a perfectly reasonable number of books to bring on a day trip,” you protest primly. “And if I recall correctly, you ended up borrowing one of those books on the way home, so you’re welcome.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Steve laughs, holding out his hands in mock concession and turning to say his goodbyes to Bucky, currently bent over the panel, confidently pressing buttons and flicking toggles. It gives you some comfort. You’re a bit of a nervous flier, but Bucky seems to know what he’s doing and the Avengers’ personal jet has to be a lot safer than any commercial plane you’ve ever been on anyway.  
  
Though it’s more than just the thought of crashing into the Atlantic ocean that has you on edge. Three hours. That’s approximately how long you’ll be confined with Bucky in a high-tech tin can.  
  
Three hours to sit in awkward silence, or worse, awkward conversation if your previous interactions are anything to go by. Chances are you’ll try to make small talk but somehow end up saying something stupid while Bucky just sort of _looks_ at you like he’s wondering how you managed to get this job in the first place. It’s a reasonable question, to be fair, and one you’ve asked yourself at least once every day since you started.  
  
Not that you’re a notably skilled conversationalist in general, but around Bucky, you can barely manage to string two coherent sentences together. You can’t help it! You just like him _so fucking much_ and you want him to like you even just a little, so you try to be cool and relaxed and _chill_. Like Natasha or Sam, the two people who, apart from Steve, he seems to actually be comfortable around.  
  
Unfortunately, you are neither cool _nor_ relaxed and you definitely are not _chill_. No, _you_ are a grab-bag of somewhat less attractive personality traits like excitable and dorky and perpetually-fucking-nervous, all wrapped up in sensible shoes and practical, un-sexy clothing. Basically the anti-Nat, or any person you can imagine Bucky being attracted to. So when you try to converse with him like a normal person you usually end up rambling on like an alien who watched one episode of Gilmore Girls and thought that was how humans really communicated with each other. Not exactly a turn on.  
  
Sadly, knowing you have absolutely no chance with him does nothing to stop your feelings. If anything it only makes them stronger somehow. No harm in letting yourself become totally obsessed with the guy since it’s not like you’ll ever tell him how you feel, therefore there’s no chance of rejection! Foolproof!  
  
Really though, you don’t know how you could have avoided falling for him anyway, even if you _had_ tried.  
  
As a member of the team’s admin staff, you see them basically every day. Relaxing, training, doing press and charity events – everything but actually going on missions. After months of chatting during meetings, discussing schedules and events, and working in the same place they live, you’ve gotten to know them pretty well, you think.  
  
And despite Bucky’s taciturn demeanor, the _White Wolf_ seems more like a puppy to you. Sure, his resting expression has a tendency to read as slightly murderous and he's undoubtedly deadly in the field, but there's another side to him too.  
  
Bucky is _enthralled_ with all things technological. Whenever there’s a presentation on new tools for the team Bucky is there, bright-eyed and attentive, with thoughtful, clever questions on how it all works, and he’s not shy about making suggestions either.  
  
He shamelessly enjoys all things soft and cozy – fuzzy blankets, knit sweaters, his _cat_. Alpine was a stray Bucky found wandering the grounds of the compound. Now she wanders the residential wing instead, usually wherever Bucky is.  
  
He could be bitter and angry and cruel after everything he’s been through – and God knows he’d have every right – but he’s not. He has his bad days, of course. Days at a time where you hardly see him except for mandatory meetings or training, and then with dark shadows under his eyes and a heavy blankness that seems etched into his face.  
  
But most of the time it’s clear he _wants_ to be part of the world. With his never-ending curiosity about all the things he missed, or never had the freedom to enjoy. With his dark, wry humor and the fond way he can’t help but look at Steve whenever he says something that must remind him of before the war. With the way he tries so goddamn hard to put some good back into the world, to make up for things that weren’t even his fault.  
  
You truly don’t understand how anyone could know him and not love him. You certainly never stood a chance.  
  
“See you, pal. Text me when you land.” Steve’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you realize you’ve been staring into nothing for longer than you realized. “Say hi to Pepper for me!” he calls to you as he leaves.  
  
And with that, it’s just you and Bucky. For the next three hours.  
  
+++  
  
The awkward silence – apart from a quiet, “You ready?” from Bucky just before take-off – lasts all of ten minutes. That’s as long as you can go before the pressure to say _something_ becomes irresistible. Being bad at talking to Bucky has never kept you from _trying_ , unfortunately.  
  
“You excited to go back to Wakanda?” you ask.  
  
Bucky nods. “Yeah. It’ll be nice to see Shuri again.” He says it with a soft smile and you know he means it. He clearly has a deep affection and respect for her.  
  
“I bet. She seems ridiculously cool. Honestly, I wanna be her when I grow up,” you joke, then immediately cringe. _I wanna be her when I grow up? Come on!_ Bucky laughs politely and the jet is once again silent.  
  
Bucky seems content to just sit with his thoughts, but the jet’s at cruising altitude now so you take the opportunity to get out of your seat and grab one of the _only two_ books from your bag. Can’t say anything stupid if you’re too busy reading! Check and mate, Rogers.  
  
You’re elbow deep in toiletries and underwear, having decided blindly digging around would be preferable to actually taking the bag down and fully unzipping it, when you decide to try speaking again.  
  
“So do you know what upgrades you’re getting? You know, for –” you gesture at your left arm, or try to, except you use the arm currently being eaten by your suitcase at the exact moment the jet hits a patch of turbulence, jostling you and your luggage.  
  
Bucky jumps up, darting over to steady you with a hand on your back. As a part of your mind becomes consumed with thoughts of, _holy shit he’s touching me_ , you manage to wrench your arm out of your suitcase, sending it to knock against the silver briefcase next to it. The impact shifts the briefcase slightly. The next bump of the jet a moment later has it falling out of the storage unit entirely.  
  
The silver briefcases used by the Avengers to transport dangerous or delicate materials are _very_ cleverly designed so that – properly clasped – they could be used as a football for an NFL game with no ill-effects.  
  
Which is how you know _this_ case has very clearly not been properly clasped because as it falls it springs open, and a small vial of clear liquid hits the floor. And shatters.  
  
For a single moment there is absolute silence as you and Bucky stare down at the broken glass and the thin, silvery mist rising from it with shocking speed and volume, filling the space around your bodies.  
  
“Oh, _fuck_ ,” you breathe.  
  
Bucky snaps into action, grabbing you by the arm and tugging you toward the sleeping compartments in the back of the jet, calling for FRIDAY along the way.  
  
“Get us back to the compound _now_ ,” he orders. “And get Stark or Banner on the line.” He shoves you inside the nearest cabin, following and sliding the door shut behind him.  
  
Immediately he’s gripping you by the shoulders and turning you to face him. “Did any of it get on you? On your clothes?” he asks urgently, eyes scanning your body.  
  
“No! I mean, not the liquid, I don’t think. But what about that mist or vapour or whatever? What if we breathed it in?” You have _no_ idea what was in that vial. “Oh God, we’re gonna die,” you moan, anxiously pacing the tiny room. “Or I am, anyway. You’ll probably be fine. _Fuck_. Oh my God. What if it’s like, some flesh-eating poison? Am I gonna turn into the Hulk?”  
  
Your heart races and you feel hot. You can’t tell if it’s just fear or something worse but whatever it is must show on your face because Bucky gently guides you to sit on the narrow bed as the call _finally_ connects.  
  
“Hey, Bucky, what’s up?” It’s Bruce, thank God. You’re not sure you could handle even the briefest and most well-meaning witticism from Tony right now.  
  
Bucky very quickly briefs Bruce on the situation, finishing with, “Any idea what the fuck was in that case?”  
  
You can hear the anxiety in Bruce’s voice. “Shit, I don’t know. Not unless you have the label. And we didn’t really examine them, just packed them up.”  
  
“Fucking great!” you can’t help but interject, throwing your hands in the air and receiving a concerned look from Bucky in return.  
  
“But listen, guys. You’re on your way back to the compound – FRIDAY says 30 minutes tops. I’ll have medical and biochem ready as soon as you touch down. And it’s already been what? Like five minutes? If nothing’s happened yet, you’re probably fine? Just sit tight and don’t leave the cabin. The doors seal airtight so nothing can get through.”  
  
And with that, Bruce hangs up to get everything ready for your return, leaving you and Bucky at opposite ends of an very small space. You’ve never been claustrophobic before but you must be developing the fear because the walls feel like they’re closing in and your heart feels like it’s about to beat its way out of your chest.  
  
“Okay, wow. Great. _‘Sit tight.’_ That’s awesome, just awesome.” You look around the room, empty except for the bunk you’re sitting on. “What are we supposed to do now? Play twenty fucking questions?” Your relaxing weekend abroad has disappeared and apparently taken your brain-to-mouth filter with it. Between that, your racing heart, and the increasing heat spreading through your body you’re not entirely sure that you’re _probably fine_ , but you’re chalking it up to anxiety because it’s not like there’s anything you can do about it anyway. Except _sit tight.  
  
_Looking up at Bucky you can see his cheeks have taken on a pink flush, but again, that’s probably just stress. Or maybe annoyance at having to be trapped in a tiny room with you and your panicked blathering for the next half hour.  
  
Sighing, he sinks to the floor, resting his back against the door and stretching out his legs in front of him. “Nothin’ to do but wait, doll.”  
  
Your eyes flash to his. _Doll_. He’s never called you _that_ before. He’s never really called you _anything_ before. Bucky seems to have noticed it too because he furrows his brows, looking like he’s just as surprised as you are.  
  
There’s a brief moment of eye contact before you both quickly look away, choosing not to address it. _Probably just a habit_ , you think. A remnant of the Bucky that existed long before you were born, jumping out in a moment of stress.  
  
A heavy silence falls, leaving you both to your own thoughts. You try to focus on breathing, on staying calm, but your mind keeps straying and it feels like there’s too much energy in your body. Your skin practically itches with it and you squirm, unable to get comfortable but not sure exactly why.  
  
You can hear Bucky tapping his foot on the floor, the sound of him shifting around. You wonder if he feels it too.  
  
Bucky… _Doll_. The way it had fallen out of his mouth so casually, so easily. As though he’d said it to you a hundred times. You feel a spark bubble up inside you picturing Bucky’s flushed cheeks and that word. You imagine him saying it breathlessly, reverently, just before his lips touch yours. Or growling it out as he moves inside you… _Fuck, doll, just like that_.  
  
You nearly let out a _whimper_ and you feel a rush of slick in your panties, shocking you out of your fantasy as you become uncomfortably aware of just how _wet_ you are. That spreading heat flares even more than before and you realize you must have been dripping into your underwear for longer than just the last few seconds.  
  
There’s a deep throb of arousal in your core, stronger than anything you’ve felt before, like that unbearable energy under your skin has been pulled to settle deep inside you. It’s confusing – far too powerful to be the result of a vague, half-imagined fantasy.  
  
But even as you wonder at what’s happening, it’s like a fog settles over you, the confusion half-hearted, nothing compared to the growing urge to _touch_ , to quell the burning fire inside you. Before you can even consciously register the movement, your hand is making its way to your pussy.  
  
Any shock or embarrassment at your wildly inappropriate behaviour is slow to appear and dulled when it does. Snatching your hand back just as it nears the apex of your thighs is like walking through deep water, like you have to _convince_ yourself why you shouldn’t get off in front of a co-worker.  
  
Your eyes flash to Bucky, wondering if he’s seen, if he’s affected the same way you are, only to find his gaze already fixed on you, blue eyes blown nearly black. His fists are clenched at his sides and his lips are bitten red and spit-slick. He breathes in deep, nostrils flaring, and you realize _he can smell you_.  
  
It should be humiliating. You should be turning away in humiliation, but instead, you feel yourself get – somehow, _impossibly_ – wetter and this time you can’t contain the helpless whimper when Bucky groans and licks his lips in response.  
  
It's as if with that sound the floodgates have opened because in an instant you’re slipping off the bed and throwing yourself at him, desperate to be closer, as close as physically possible.  
  
You scramble on top of him, graceless and frantic, straddling his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck. Bucky’s hands grip your ass, pulling you closer and grinding you down on his cock, pressing hard and hot against you even through your clothes.  
  
There’s a moment – a tiny fraction of a second – where you catch each other’s eyes. A pause, where you think you see _something_ , some emotion on Bucky's face, but you don't have time to decipher it before he’s surging up to press his lips against yours and a bomb is set off inside you.  
  
You have no idea what you’re doing – your experiences up to now have been limited to a handful of lackluster kisses with people not worth remembering – but Bucky doesn’t seem to notice or mind. He holds your face firmly in his hands, turning your head to suit him as he licks into your mouth and you do your best to mimic his actions, clumsy in your mindless passion.  
  
He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and you gasp, rocking your hips against his, trying to get some friction on your throbbing clit. He thrusts up against you and you move together but it’s not enough.  
  
It’s clear whatever was in that vial has created a thirst in you that won’t be quenched by a heated make-out session and you pull away from Bucky's mouth, moaning as he tilts your head back to kiss your neck, licking and sucking at the tender skin. “More,” you gasp. “I need more.”  
  
You feel him nod against your throat and with one last, deep kiss to your lips Bucky grips you by the hips and lifts you off him, shifting to rest his weight on his heels before reaching to push your dress up over your waist.  
  
Almost all of your higher brain function is devoted to being as close to Bucky as possible but far in the back of your mind, there’s a small part of you that’s simply shocked at what’s happening, at the sensations coursing through your body.  
  
You have never felt this uninhibited in your _entire life_. You were a shy, anxious child who grew into a somewhat less shy, anxious adult, easily embarrassed and prone to overthinking. But now, with that silvery mist working its way through your system, you’ve never felt so _shameless_.  
  
Bucky is feverishly slipping off your shoes and tugging down your tights and you’re not thinking about how you haven’t shaved your legs in weeks or how you’re wearing an old pair of plain cotton panties or any of the dozens of worries that would be running through your head under normal circumstances. (Not that Bucky would be undressing you at all, under normal circumstances.)  
  
No. Instead of overthinking and paralyzing yourself with fear, you’re pulling your dress over your head and reaching back to unclasp your bra so you can get your own hands on your breasts. You could almost just sit and bask in this unfamiliar feeling of freedom if it weren’t for the hot ache in your core that threatens to burn you alive with every moment you go untouched.  
  
As soon as your tights have been pulled off and tossed aside, Bucky is shouldering your legs apart and leaning forward to press his nose against the wet patch on your panties, breathing deep. “Fuck, doll. I need to taste you.” You whimper as his tongue darts out to lick a wide stripe up the length of your covered cunt.  
  
His hands move to your hips and in an instant, your panties are torn from your body and his mouth is on your bare skin for the first time. You can’t help but gasp as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your folds. His tongue licks up your opening and circles your clit before moving back down and slipping inside you, drinking up your slick.  
  
Bucky growls against your pussy. “So fucking good.” His tongue moves back to your clit and he laps at it in short, teasing flicks. You begin to buck helplessly and Bucky’s metal arm brackets your hips, holding you still for his mouth. He switches to deep, firm circles over your clit, alternating with wide laps over the whole of your cunt.  
  
You’re losing your mind, flat on your back with your legs thrown over Bucky’s shoulders, heels pressing into his back. You’ve never felt anything like this. You haven’t even come yet but it’s already more intense than any orgasm you’ve ever given yourself. You feel two fingers against your opening and you fight Bucky’s grip over your hipbones, trying to grind yourself down onto him.  
  
He chuckles at your efforts and presses just the tips of his fingers inside you. “So needy, huh? Just wanna be filled up, don’t you?”  
  
You have no idea how he’s able to _tease_ right now when you're ready to fall to your knees and plead just for the _chance_ at an orgasm. You whine, trying again to slide down onto his fingers but his metal arm keeps you from moving a single inch and you toss your head back with a wail. “Please, Bucky,” you sob. “I need it, I need you. _Please_.” You feel no embarrassment at your begging. The fire inside you is growing hotter and hotter. You _need_ him. You need to be filled, _fucked_. You feel like you’ll die if he doesn’t fuck you _now_.  
  
The teasing tone drops out of Bucky’s voice and he presses messy kisses to your inner thighs. “I know, I know. I feel it too. Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m gonna fill you up so good. Stuff you full. Gonna make you feel so good, make it better.” His fingers finally slip into you, sliding easily through your wetness. He starts thrusting and his tongue circles your clit again as his fingers curl. He focuses on your g-spot, stroking roughly as he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks.  
  
You’re coming in seconds with a series of breathy moans, thighs clamped tightly around Bucky’s head. He doesn’t let up, only pulling away when you tug at his hair, the sensations too much. He kisses you, sliding his tongue against yours and you can taste yourself in his mouth. It reignites the fire your orgasm had dulled slightly and you pull away, about to plead for more, but it seems Bucky has finally reached his limit.  
  
His hands work at his belt and he shoves his jeans and briefs down just enough to free his cock. You’ve never really seen one in person before and maybe under different circumstances you’d take a moment to get familiar, but right now all you can do is spread your legs and beg.  
  
Bucky quickly positions himself above you, lining his cock up with your entrance. He drags the head along your pussy a couple times, groaning as he slicks himself up and begins to push into you.  
  
He’s bigger than anything you’ve ever had inside you hardly notice the sting. It’s nothing compared to the raging chorus inside you chanting _more, more, more_. In one single, hurried thrust he’s fully inside, your bodies pressed flush together.  
  
Bucky moans. “So fucking tight, _fuck_. You feel so goddamn good, doll,” he pants above you, leaning down for a filthy kiss, wet and open.  
  
“Fucking _move, please_ ,” you beg, hooking your legs around him and digging in your heels.  
  
Bucky growls into your mouth and pulls out almost entirely before thrusting back inside _hard_ , pulling a sound from deep in your throat. He repeats the move a handful of times before settling into a harsh, pounding rhythm with his face buried in your neck. You cling to his back, senseless, unable to focus on anything but how _good_ you feel. Your brain feels fuzzy and empty and every thrust drags his cock along your g-spot and it’s too much, _too good_. You’re a gasping, panting mess.  
  
It’s not long before his hips start to stutter, his rhythm breaking as he moans out above you. Your hand slides down your body to your clit and you rub firm circles around it. A few swipes and you’re coming, harder than you ever have in your life, with a high, keening moan. The tight squeezes of your cunt have Bucky coming too and you feel a warmth release inside you as he collapses against your chest.  
  
Neither of you moves for a long moment, your heavy, mingled breaths the only sound in the room. There’s still some lingering fog as you soak in the afterglow of your drug-intensified orgasm, but it seems like the chemical has run its course and clarity is quickly returning to you. The silence is broken by FRIDAY announcing your approach to one of the landing pads, and you feel the jet begin its descent a moment later.  
  
Her voice hits you like a slap in the face, a stark reminder of what’s really happening here, what you’ve just _done_. It seems Bucky feels the same, because he leans back just enough to look you in the eyes and a long moment of horrified recognition passes between you. Your breathing picks up again as panic surges through you.  
  
You start to squirm under his weight but he’s already moving. You wince as he pulls out of you, suddenly aware of a deep soreness between your legs. In seconds, Bucky has tucked himself back into his jeans, and he storms out of the cabin without a backward glance.  
  
So eager to get away from you he doesn’t seem to care that he might be walking directly into a toxic cloud. Like anything would be better than being trapped with you for another moment.  
  
You lay there on the floor, naked and shivering, with Bucky’s cum starting to leak out of you as you struggle to take a breath, all the anxiety and uncertainty the drug had masked flooding back to you at once. You force yourself to sit up and pull your clothes back on, cringing as you feel the mess between your legs seep into your tights. You hastily stuff your ruined panties in your pocket.  
  
You take a few deep breaths and try to still your shaking hands as you hear footsteps approaching the cabin. You’re given a respirator and guided off the jet into a throng of people awaiting your arrival, Bucky nowhere to be seen. White-coated staff swarm you and lead you inside.  
  
+++  
  
You wish you could say the next several hours are a blur, but they are, unfortunately, exceptionally, horrifically clear. You’re taken through a decontamination shower, though you’re really not sure how much good it could do at this point, then poked and prodded with needles and swabs while having the most mortifying conversation of your life. You feel nearly choked with a shocking, burning shame. This morning you woke up nervous and excited for a weekend away, and now you’re telling a handful of strangers how you just had sex for the first time in an uncontrollable, frenzied state of lust with one of the Avengers.  
  
And as though it couldn’t be worse, it’s made all the more humiliating by the lingering throb of arousal thrumming through you the entire time. It seems whatever this drug is, the two orgasms you’ve _already_ had weren’t enough to neutralize it, though at least you have enough self-control now to keep from shoving your hand down your pants in front of everyone in the room.  
  
Finally, after what seems like hours and unfortunately _really is_ hours, you’re told to go home and rest. You’ve been given an emergency contraceptive, a pamphlet for the Employee Assistance Program, a number to call if you feel any strange symptoms, and told that someone will follow up with you in the next day or so.  
  
You feel numb as you enter your apartment, tugging off your med-bay issued scrubs on the way to the bathroom. You get yourself off in the shower, and though it’s the most joyless orgasm of your life, it seems to finally clear any lingering arousal from your system. Wincing at the tenderness between your legs, you scrub yourself clean under the hot spray, half wishing you could dissolve into a puddle and wash away down the drain with the soapy water.  
  
You’re getting ready for bed when your thoughts take a sudden turn to Bucky for the first time in hours. You’d been so overwhelmed by all the tests and questions, so cocooned in your own embarrassment you’d practically forgotten about him. Guilt rushes through you at your own selfish thoughtlessness. Feeling so sorry for yourself like you were the only victim. Like you were the victim _at all_.  
  
You’ve had a crush on Bucky for months, have spent more time than you’d like to admit imagining being with him in ways both innocent and obscene. But he’s never looked twice at you, barely speaks to you except for unavoidable work discussions. Not that you expect anything different. Someone like him would never want to be with you anywhere outside your daydreams.  
  
Except now he _has_ been with you. Forced against his will to take part in some horrific act, because surely that’s how Bucky must see it, now the fog of uncontrollable lust has cleared.  
  
You had sex for the first time in decidedly unwanted conditions, but at least it was with someone you’re genuinely attracted to, someone you have feelings for. Bucky had been forced to have sex with someone he didn’t even _like_ , much less desire.  
  
After everything he’s been through, how hard he’s worked to find a place where he can feel safe and in control of his own life – his own _body_. Only to have that control taken from him again in the most indecent way.  
  
Shame, viscous and thick, swells in your throat like sickness and your eyes fill with tears. No wonder Bucky ran out of the cabin the way he had.  
  
You feel so much worse because of your feelings for him. Dirty and _wrong_ because you would have enjoyed the sex even without the drug.  
  
You know, deep down, it’s not your fault. You didn’t mean to knock the case over and you had no idea what was inside – not to mention you weren’t the one who forgot to latch it – but you can’t help but feel responsible for what happened and you wonder if Bucky feels the same. If he knows about your feelings and thinks you orchestrated the entire thing on purpose. You wouldn’t blame him if he did.  
  
And the rest of the team! If they don’t know already, they will soon enough. What if they blame you too? What if they’re disgusted by you? Anxiety spreads through your body from your pounding heart, filling your limbs. You can’t breathe, you can’t think. You feel boiling hot and ice cold all at once.  
  
Collapsing to your bedroom floor, you bring your hands to your thighs, digging your fingernails into the skin. The sharp pain distracts you from the heavy panic flooding your body enough to let you focus on breathing in, then out, repeating the words in your head until you feel your heart rate settle, the panic easing a little.  
  
You pull yourself up off the floor and push yourself through the motions of getting ready for bed.  
  
The intrusive thoughts are still there _(everyone hates you. You’re going to lose your job. Are you_ sure _you didn’t do it on purpose?_ ) but you try to ignore them. There’s nothing you can do about anything right now and thinking yourself into a panic attack won’t do any good.

You turn on an old episode of your favourite show and get in bed, tugging the covers up to your neck and focusing on the screen, allowing the familiar storylines to dull the intensity of your thoughts until you finally fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s the end of chapter one! Feel free to leave a kudos and/or comment and let me know what you thought! I spent a truly ridiculous amount of time trying to figure out the whole sex pollen aspect and I’m still not totally happy with it hahah but I hope it doesn’t seem too shoe-horned in 😝 Anything else that you’d like to see tagged for, let me know!! Part 2 will be out next week!
> 
> I'm also posting to Tumblr in case you prefer to read there 😀


	2. i’m in your head now, from every second now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, you had sex with a co-worker under the influence of a super-powered aphrodisiac. What do you do now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you to everyone who read, kudos'd, commented, and subscribed!! Second of all, there is no smut in this part so if you wanna skip this one and catch up on Part 3 (which does have smut) I totally get it and you will receive no judgment from me!! Sorry for the wait on this one, Part 3 won’t take this long I promise!

You sleep for a long time, deep and dreamless, and wake to the hot midday sun streaming in through your open curtains. You’d been so out of it the night before you hadn’t even bothered to shut them.

For a moment or two it feels like a normal day, albeit a lazy one. Like sleeping in on Sunday and waking up easy and refreshed. You reach for your phone to check the time when recollection kicks in, reminding you exactly why you’re in bed at noon on a Friday, stripping away any feelings of peace or rest.

You want to stay in bed, bury yourself under the covers until you die. Or at least until someone from the compound reaches out to you, but there’s too much nervous energy thrumming under your skin, making you restless and jittery and you finally give in and leave the warm cocoon of your blankets.

You spend the day at home, stress-cleaning your entire apartment and stress-eating your entire fridge, vacillating between panic and calm. One minute you’re stuffing your face with week-old stir-fry and checking your phone with every mouthful; the next you’re elbow-deep in dishwater, resigned to your fate – whatever it may be.

In worried moments, you can’t imagine how you can possibly go back to the compound after everything that’s happened. How can you discuss schedules and mission reports when everyone you work with knows you got railed by an Avenger on one of the jets they use to fly around saving the world?

How can you face _Bucky_ again? Even if he doesn’t blame you for what happened, he’s bound to have some negative feelings about the whole thing. About sleeping with you. It’s not like you’d been friends before. Not like _he’s_ been harbouring secret romantic feelings like you have. If Bucky’s harbouring any secret feelings about you, they’re probably feelings of annoyance and dislike.

What if every time he looks at you now he’s reminded of how you _begged_ , needy and naked and pathetic, for him to fuck you? What if he’s disgusted by you?

Somehow that’s the worst thought of all. That the first person – the only person – to have seen your body laid bare, to have touched you in the most intimate ways possible might be repulsed, not by what happened, but because it happened with you. It’s a thought you try not to dwell on for long, but you come back to it over and over throughout the day. Each time, shame and self-loathing and heartache flood your body until you force yourself to think about something else. To eat something else, clean something else.

You remind yourself there’s no point worrying about things that might never happen. You’ll only have to endure the reactions from Bucky and the team if you actually go back to work, which might not be an option anymore. No one’s reached out to you all day – no calls, no emails, no texts – and the radio silence has you fearing the worst. That no one has reached out because they’re busy working on your termination paperwork. As the hours slip by, those moments of calm get fewer and further between.

By the time you’ve eaten all there is to eat, cleaned all there is to clean, and paced what feels like a hundred miles across the length of your apartment it’s nearly midnight and the only messages you’ve gotten all day are promotional emails and a meme from one of your friends back home.

You wish you could talk to her, tell her about everything and get another perspective, but the ironclad NDA you signed on your first day of work rules out telling pretty much anyone other than the Avengers and their support staff – none of whom you want to talk about _this_ with.

If nothing else, at least your nervous energy has burned off, leaving you drained and eager to sleep for another twelve – or _twelve thousand_ – hours. But despite your exhaustion, sleep doesn’t come any easier than the night before. You toss and turn for hours it seems, and when you do sleep, it’s light and fitful. You wake early on Saturday morning, feeling no more relaxed than when you first shut your eyes.

+++

After another morning alone in your apartment with no news, you think you’re going to go insane soon. You’ve drafted a dozen emails to Maria Hill, to the head of R&D, even one to _Steve_ , but can’t bring yourself to hit send on any of them. Trying to find the line between professional concern and desperate pleading proves to be very difficult.

You’ve just started yet _another_ message to Maria – since she coordinates all Avengers operations (including the one that landed you in this situation) – when your phone rings.

It’s such a surprise after the silence of the last two days that you’re frozen for a moment before you scramble for your phone, almost dropping it in a mug of lukewarm tea in your haste. A glance at the screen reveals it’s Maria herself on the line, as if summoned by all your unfinished emails. Knowing her background and capabilities, you wouldn’t be surprised if she somehow _has_ seen them…

Brushing away that uncomfortable thought, you take a breath and answer the call, trying your best for a confident and casual, “Hello?”

Characteristically brusque, Maria wastes no time getting straight to the point. “Can you come to the compound this afternoon? The research half of R&D has an update for you and I figured we should talk, too.”

“Uh—” you start, wondering how to give a firm _fuck no_ while still being agreeable and cooperative. Luckily, Maria picks up on the reason for your hesitance.

“Right, that would probably be uncomfortable for you. We’ll come to you. Three o’clock?” she offers.

“Three is good?” It’s not like you have anything else going on.

“Great. I’m supposed to call Secretary Ross at three and I do not want to. See you then.” And with that, the line goes dead. Maria has very little patience for pleasantries, you’ve learned.

+++

At three o’clock sharp there’s a knock at your door. You open it up to find Maria waiting outside with a middle-aged woman carrying a black medical bag. You vaguely remember seeing her face among the half dozen or so you saw during the debrief after the jet. Maria says hello and makes the necessary introductions.

“This is Dr. Sakina Singh,” she says, face expressionless. “She’s from R&D. You might remember her from –”

“The extremely intrusive round of questions I asked you two days ago,” Dr. Singh interjects with a grimace, looking about as uncomfortable as you feel. This probably isn’t what she imagined she’d be doing when she accepted the offer to work with the Avengers.

You laugh politely if a little awkwardly. “I remember. Nice to meet you, officially?” She smiles and you shake hands.

“Can we come in?” Maria asks, reminding you they’re still standing in your open doorway while cold February air blows into your apartment.

“Right! Sorry!” You bring them through to your kitchen, gesturing for them to sit at the table and making the obligatory offers of tea and coffee.

Maria and Dr. Singh take one side of the table and it makes you feel a bit like you’re about to have the worst job interview of your life. The fact that Maria was actually _at_ your last job interview doesn’t help. You start to fidget with your hands, relieved the table hides the worst of your nerves.

Dr. Singh starts off the proceedings. “I mostly just wanted to check in and see if you’ve experienced any other symptoms, anything out of the ordinary, and to give you a bit of an update on what we’ve found out about the chemical you and Sergeant Barnes ingested,” she says, looking more at-ease now the small-talk portion of the conversation is over and she can focus on the science of it all.

“I feel normal,” you reply quietly. “No _symptoms_ since Thursday night.”

She nods. “That’s good, and consistent with what Sergeant Barnes reported.” Even the mention of Bucky’s name is enough to have your face flooding with heat. Your hands clench, fingernails pressing crescents into your palms. She carries on, explaining what she and her team were able to determine about the chemical. It’s nothing ground-breaking or unexpected, not after having experienced its effects first-hand. A super-powered aphrodisiac with no discernable purpose beyond making people horny. _Just_ the sort of thing you’d expect to uncover in some mad scientist’s underground lab. Why try curing cancer when you can make people fuck instead?

“It provokes extreme sexual arousal while simultaneously decreasing inhibitions,” Dr. Singh explains. “It appears to be neutralized by the chemicals released during orgasm. More than that we don’t know. And since the only uncontaminated sample of the chemical was destroyed, it may be all we will know. But the good news is we don’t see there being any lingering physical impacts, though I would like to take another blood sample from you to be sure it’s completely out of your system.”

You consent to the blood sample and she heads back to the compound after it’s done, leaving you and Maria alone at your kitchen table. She’s been nearly motionless this entire time, watching you and Dr. Singh converse, but offering nothing in the way of commentary or even acknowledgment. If you didn’t know better you’d think she wasn’t paying attention at all. But you do know better, and you have no doubt she could repeat word-for-word everything that was said since you opened the door half an hour ago. Regardless, the stony-faced reticence is unsettling and gives you no clue as to how your conversation with her is going to go. And it’s this conversation you’re really worried about.

After a moment of silence that feels endless, Maria lets out a big, heaving sigh, her shoulders dropping as she relaxes into her seat. “Well, that was awkward.”

Oh. _That’s_ how your conversation is going to go. It’s so not what you expected her to say and yet so completely like her that a shocked giggle forces its way out of your mouth. She grins at you across the table, but you feel your own smile fade. “God, Maria, I’m so sor—”

“If you’re about to apologize, so help me God,” she says, with a look on her face that dares you to argue with her. “ _I_ apologize, sincerely, on behalf of myself and the entire Avengers organization. This shouldn’t have happened. We have a dangerous chemicals procedure for a reason, for fuck’s sake,” she adds, with a stormy expression that has you pitying the poor techs who loaded the jet.

“I mean, it’s no one’s fault, really. I’m sure that case wasn’t purposely unlatched.” You don’t want anyone to get in trouble for this. You feel guilty enough already about Bucky.

“Probably not,” Maria concedes. “But regardless, we’re not treating this as business as usual. This isn’t SHIELD. It won’t be swept under the rug and dismissed without investigation.” You’ve read a handful of the documents Natasha leaked during the fall of SHIELD. You can only imagine how many lab accidents were concealed; how many weren’t accidents at all. It’s a dark line of thinking with no end in sight so you change the subject, asking a question that’s been on your mind for a while.

“I wanted to ask – who knows about what happened? I know you can’t hide it, obviously, but –” you shrug, wondering exactly how many people you’re going to have to avoid eye contact with in the halls, or around town even.

Maria nods. “The Security Council has access to all our files and we have to report this as a safety incident, but no names or identifying details are recorded. And we didn’t say two staff members had intercourse on a quinjet,” she adds wryly. “Just that there was a chemical spill and two individuals were affected. The only people who know the details of what happened and to who are me, the Avengers, and Dr. Singh and her staff. And they’ve all been made very clear on what will happen if they breach confidentiality. Believe me, they won’t tell anyone.”

You believe her.

“Speaking of the Avengers… What’s the mood there? Am I totally fired?”

Maria snorts. “Fired? Because of a costly mistake for which the organization takes full responsibility, resulting in you ingesting an unknown chemical compound? No. You’re not fired.”

Okay, when she lays it out like that it makes your fears seem ridiculous. Still… “Seriously, Maria. Should I just quit? Or be reassigned? Somewhere I will never have to look at any of the Avengers ever again, maybe?” you ask, with a cringe.

“Are you concerned it will be awkward for you, or them?”

“Well, both. But obviously, their feelings would come first in this situation. They’re _the Avengers_. I'm a secretary.”

Maria rolls her eyes at that comment but chooses not to address it. “Well I can’t do anything about your feelings, but I can assure you that you won’t be treated any differently because of this.”

You gape at her. “Seriously?” How could they not treat you differently?

Maria levels you with a look. “Do you really think this is the strangest thing that has ever happened on that team?” she says, with the distinct air of a woman who has seen and heard too much.

You’re not convinced. “Stranger than two of them banging on a quinjet under the influence of a crazy sex drug?” You’re pretty sure if this were the Strange and Unusual Olympics, that would earn you at least a silver medal.

Maria doesn’t seem to agree. She straightens her back and takes a breath. “Giant octopus monster in the Thames. That time a wizard transformed Steve into his pre-serum body for a week. _Wanda_ , daily.” She looks at you, eyebrows raised. You have to admit she has a point.

“But –”

“Last month I walked in on Steve and Sam having sex in a conference room. A couple years ago Barton got wasted during a game of truth or dare and told everyone how much he enjoys getting slapped around by women in leather. There are _multiple_ sex tapes of Tony on the internet.” She pauses, making sure she has your full attention. “Dealing with weird shit and knowing way too much about the people you work with? Pretty much the two things that bind the Avengers together. Welcome to the team.”

Once again, she manages to make things seem so simple. You want to believe her. You almost _do_ believe her. There’s just one thing…

“What about Bucky? Maybe everyone else can brush it off, but this happened _with_ him. He can’t possibly want to work with me anymore.”

“Fair enough,” Maria says. “But I actually spoke to Barnes this morning. He made it very clear he did not want this to impact your employment in any way.” She shrugs. “Like I said. If it’s not a problem for you, it’s not a problem for them. They’re professionals. Well, mostly.”

You nod. This conversation has been enlightening – in a few ways – and Maria’s given you a lot to think about. Also a lot to very purposely _not_ think about (Clint! And presumably Laura!). Maria leans back in her seat, considering you for a long moment as you try to process what she’s told you and come up with some sort of response. The silence stretches on until finally, she speaks.

“I’ve had a lot of weird, bad sex in my life.” You stare at her, wide-eyed and mouth agape. Luckily, she doesn’t wait for a response. “I know what happened to you wasn’t just a shitty hookup and you have every right to feel however feel about it.” She says, for the first time looking less than perfectly at ease. She takes her time with her next words. “But I guess what I’m trying to say is it doesn’t have to count. Sex doesn’t change who you are. It doesn’t have to mean anything unless you want it to.”

You nod dumbly, not sure what to say. You feel the sudden intense need to be alone for a while so you can sit with all the new thoughts running through your mind.

Maria nods back, face settled again into cool composure. “Okay, no more feelings talk. The point is: you’re welcome to come back to work anytime. FRIDAY’s taking on as much as she can, but an AI is only capable of so much. Even that one. Think about it.”

+++

You do think about it. You spend the rest of the day thinking about it. You go for a long walk in the crisp winter air, thinking about it. You journal, thinking about it. You Google “I slept with a co-worker, what now?” in various combinations and read several unhelpful articles, thinking about it.

After hours of introspection, what you come up with is this: you love your job. You love your _life_. You’ve always been cautious, careful to a fault. Never a risk-taker. Until a few months ago, you lived in the same town you were born in. Happy enough, but not exactly satisfied. Until you applied for this job. Until you packed up your life, left behind everything you’d ever known to start over someplace new.

And you’ve never regretted it. You finally felt like you had a place where you belonged. Over the time you’ve worked with the team, they’ve become friends, not just-workers and you love getting to know the real people behind the glossy media personas the rest of the world is familiar with. You love the sense of pride you feel, knowing the work you do matters, contributes – even in its own small way – to something as unfathomably huge and worthwhile as _world peace_. You don’t want to give that up. _You can’t_.

The sex thing? Yeah, that _sucks_. You may not have dreamt of rose petals and scented candles, but you were pretty determined there’d be love and commitment involved. A _partner_ , not just a person.

But Maria is right. Sex doesn’t change who you are. Virginity is a goddamn social construct and this doesn’t have to matter unless _you_ want it to. You had sex for the first time with someone you have feelings for, someone you respect. And maybe the circumstances (weird sex drug, floor of airplane) were less than perfect, but you can’t deny the sex itself felt good (amazing). Better than a random guy that couldn’t locate the clitoris with a GPS and flashing neon lights.

You feel like you’ve been given permission to let this go. To let it be something that happened, but not something that defines you. Just one moment out of millions. You know it’s not that simple. That one illuminating conversation isn’t enough to silence the part of you that still feels ashamed, embarrassed, and heartbroken, but it's a start. A new perspective and one that has you feeling a hell of a lot better than you did just a few hours ago.

There’s just one roadblock in this journey of self-enlightenment to being a mature, grown-ass woman who is handling this like a fucking champ – Bucky.

But if what Maria said is true, and you have no reason to think she’d lie to you, then maybe that’s not such a roadblock after all?

If everyone, even Bucky, can go on as usual (whatever that is with the Avengers), then you’re basically in the same place you were before all this: hiding your unrequited feelings for a man that doesn’t think about you at all. Just with the added aspect of remembering what his body felt like on top of you, inside you. How his tongue felt in your mouth, and on your… Anyway!

You’ve decided. You’re going back to work and it’s going to be totally fine. You’re all going to be adults about this. Having drug-fueled sex on a plane is basically the Avengers equivalent of getting too drunk at the office Christmas party anyway, and many an administrative assistant before you has done that and come out the other side.

You call Maria and inform her you’ll be back at the compound on Monday, and you can’t help but think there’s a little note of pride in her crisp acknowledgment.

+++

Sunday passes in a blur of nervous anticipation. By the end of the day, you’re nearly crawling out of your skin, desperate to get the embarrassing part over so you can move on with your life and dreading it at the same time. When you wake up Monday morning there’s a significant part of you that wants to call the whole thing off and stay in your apartment for the rest of your life. You remind yourself you did nothing wrong, that you have every right to your job and your life, but apprehension only grows as you get ready for work and begin the drive to the compound.

As the heavy metal gates slide shut behind your car you’re suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling you’ve made a terrible mistake. But after a brief almost-breakdown in the parking garage, you manage to pull yourself together and get out of the car.

You make your way to your office in the Avengers’ private wing without running into anyone other than security and custodial staff. It is eight in the morning after all, and it’s not like the Avengers usually congregate outside your office like a welcoming committee, so you’re not sure why you felt like you’d be seeing them all at once. They might not even all be in the building – you’ll have to get Maria to update you on any new missions that have been assigned while you were off.

You pass an hour or two catching up on emails and reaching out to a few different contacts around the compound, but no one on the team.

The first person you see who knows why you really were off is Sam, making a smoothie in the kitchen when you come in for your morning tea. You steel yourself for the ensuing awkwardness, but it doesn’t come. Sam doesn’t behave any differently than he normally would, acknowledging you with a friendly smile tossed over his shoulder as he prepares ingredients.

“Morning,” he greets, handing you a mug from the cupboard over his head as you fill up the electric kettle.

“Thanks.”

Sam nods, immediately launching into a story about his weekend that has you almost in tears from laughing so hard.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” he scolds playfully. “I was stuck in that tree for like ten minutes while Tony took pictures, even though it's _his_ fault I ended up there since he designed the damn wings. Anyway, how was _your_ weekend?” he asks with an expression of exaggerated innocence.

If it was anyone else it might feel rude or intrusive or even mean. But Sam, all easy charm and genuine warmth, has a way of making people take themselves less seriously, and you find you’re smiling despite yourself as his smirk splits into a cheeky grin. You manage to hold eye contact for a couple of seconds before you’re both laughing uncontrollably, the utter absurdity of the situation suddenly hitting you as actually kind of funny instead of completely tragic.

“Yeah, it was alright. Just hung around the house, really,” you tease, catching your breath, and the conversation seamlessly turns to what you’ve both been watching on Netflix.

You’re still smiling when you sit back down at your desk. You know there are bound to be awkward moments ahead, but the relief of knowing things can be normal, that the awkwardness will pass, has a tension leaving your body you’d been holding onto for days.

Over the next couple days as you go about your normal tasks and routines you run into members of the team in ones and twos. Some are more uncomfortable than others – you and Bruce share a particularly stilted exchange until Tony barges into the room – but after the initial acknowledgment, almost everyone carries on like it never happened. _Almost_ everyone, because by the middle of the week there’s still one person you haven’t seen or heard from.

Bucky.

You aren’t sure if you’re relieved or disappointed. Sure, you’re not exactly eager for that first – almost certainly uneasy – interaction. But at the same time, all you want is to move on and put this behind you and you don’t think you can do that until you’ve seen him. Until you’ve assured yourself he really is okay, and okay working together. The longer you go without seeing him, the more you begin to wonder if he’s really as fine with you being back as Maria said he was.

If he truly wasn’t bothered, wouldn’t you have run into him before now? It’s not like Bucky was a social butterfly before, especially not with you, but you work _with him_ in the building where he _lives_ – it’s rare to go this long without at least seeing him in passing, outside of times he’s on a mission. And he _isn’t_ on a mission – you checked.

The sense of acceptance you’ve built around what happened on the jet is fragile, and relies almost entirely on knowing Bucky is alright, that he doesn’t blame you, or hate you, or feel disgusted by you. If none of that is true, you can’t move on. At least, not while continuing to work with the team. It wouldn’t be right.

Each day, that acceptance weakens as it becomes clear Bucky is intentionally avoiding you. He _must_ be.

The agonizing waiting game finally ends on Thursday in a conference room. You’re tidying up after a meeting, gathering pens and water glasses, when Bucky turns the corner into the room, eyes glued to the tablet he holds in front of his face. At least, until he notices the room isn’t empty and his eyes snap to you.

You’ve been imagining this moment for days now – seeing Bucky again for the first time. You’ve crafted and perfected so many scenarios of how it might play out – maybe you’ll be cool and aloof, brush it off like it’s no big deal, like you haven’t thought about it at all. Or maybe you’ll crack a joke like Sam would, and Bucky will laugh and tease you back and the tension will be broken and everything will be fine.

In the moment, when it actually happens, all you can do is stare.

Bucky looks – not well, really, and it squeezes something in your chest to see him this way. You’ve been around him before when he’s having a downswing and it’s not as bad as that, but there are dark circles under his eyes that speak to sleepless nights, and a stiffness in the way he holds himself, as though every muscle is tensed. It makes you want to hold him. To wrap him in your arms until that tension bleeds out of his body. But that’s the last thing Bucky would want, considering you’re likely the source of the tension.

Your eyes find his and he holds your gaze for a moment – just a moment. You’re not sure what he sees in your expression, but he clearly doesn’t like it because his brows furrow as he turns on his heel and leaves the room.

And just like that, you’re back on the quinjet, naked and trembling on the cold floor as Bucky bolts from the room without looking back. The rejection is clear, unmistakable. You’re fully clothed but you may as well be stark naked for how vulnerable you feel in that moment.

You can’t help the tears that gather in your eyes and spill over as you stand there staring at the open door like an idiot. You roughly swipe a hand over your face to brush them away and make a hasty retreat to your office.

The day passes in a fog as you try not to break down at your desk. The dam breaks the minute you step through your apartment door as the tears you’ve been holding back for hours come flooding out. You fall to your knees and you know you’re overreacting. You tell yourself it’s probably a misunderstanding. Bucky realized he’d forgotten something. Or maybe he was just surprised to see you, wasn’t ready to talk to you yet and had to leave, but not because he hates you. Your mind clings to the idea, latches onto it like a lifeline, even as your body continues to drown – sadness like physical pain in your chest, throat sore from deep, heaving sobs.

You calm down eventually, mind winning out over body at last, but the crying has you feeling a little hollowed out. You fill the space with food and mindless media consumption, telling yourself you’ll feel better after a night of sleep.

+++

You do feel better in the morning, thank God. You’ve successfully convinced yourself what happened yesterday had to be a misunderstanding. Maria wouldn’t lie to you about what Bucky said, and honestly, it’s self-centred to think just the sight of you is enough to scare the Winter Soldier out of a room! You head into the office feeling a little uneasy still, but mostly okay.

That feeling lasts until lunchtime.

You’re taking your lunch break in the common room, eating a sandwich and watching an episode of House Hunters with Natasha. She’s in the middle of a sentence, noting the lack of defensible positions and the overabundance of wood panelling in the mid-century bungalow on-screen when Steve and Bucky enter the room.

They’ve clearly just come from the gym, likely looking for a post-workout snack. They amble into the room, playfully shoving at each other as they head for the kitchen. You can hear Alpine trotting in behind them, meowing for the treats she knows she’ll get if Bucky’s in the kitchen.

Bucky’s hair is tied up in a messy, damp bun and his t-shirt clings to his torso with sweat, toned muscles on display.

Steve’s there too.

You see the moment Bucky realizes you’re there partly because you can’t look away from him – the shadows under his eyes are still dark, but his face is flushed and lively from the workout – and also because his step very noticeably falters and the teasing expression is wiped from his face, the colour quickly draining from his cheeks.

If yesterday could be brushed off as a misunderstanding, this confirms you were right to fear the worst. Bucky was avoiding you, doesn’t want to be around you.

He mumbles something back to Steve you aren’t able to discern and turns back the way he came. Instantly you feel your face heat with shame. Now Bucky can’t stand to even be in a room with you and _other people_? Exactly how uncomfortable do you make him? Does he think you’ll leap up from the couch and throw yourself at him?

You catch Steve and Nat sharing a look out of the corner of your eye, but you have no idea what it means. You feel thoroughly wrong-footed, as though everyone in the room knows something you don’t. Something you probably don’t _want_ to know.

They make an effort to gloss over Bucky’s hasty exit, Natasha more successfully than Steve, but you just want to get back to the privacy of your office as quickly as possible so you can ruminate in peace. Or, if not in peace, at least in solitude.

Choking down the rest of your lunch in record time, you make your escape – by a different route than Bucky, lest you accidentally cross paths again and he’s forced to jump out a window to escape you.

 _TGIF_ , you think.

+++

That weekend is rough. You journal, you pace, and you think and cry and eat and Google. Finally, you end up spilling your guts to an EAP counsellor (under the guise of a drunken hook-up between co-workers) and you come to the conclusion: _fuck_ James Buchanan Barnes. Yeah, he’s smart and kind and strong and beautiful and maybe you’re a little in love with him, but he is just _a man_ and you have cried over him enough.

You didn’t ask for this! You didn’t mean for it to happen! And it’s not like you forced him to have sex with you. It’s not like he was cowering in the corner while you were throwing yourself at him. If anything, you were equally taken advantage of by each other – by that stupid fucking chemical and whatever mad scientist created it!

 _He_ was the one who said he didn’t want your employment affected by what happened! As though running screaming from the room whenever he sees you doesn’t affect your employment. The least he could do is try to be a little more subtle in his distaste. Whether he finds you unattractive or not he should be able to treat you like a human being – not some sort of leper. And if he can’t do that, he can say it to your face!

You don’t deserve this, no matter how Bucky feels about what happened. Which is exactly what you’re going to tell him when you see him on Monday. And you _will_ see him. Bucky Barnes might be an internationally feared former assassin who evaded detection for over seventy years, but you manage his calendar. He’s got a meeting in the morning with PR and you’ll be waiting outside to catch him as soon as they’re done.

 _On God_ , by noon on Monday, this will be resolved once and for all.

+++

Ten a.m. sharp you’re standing outside the PR office suite, reminding yourself why your anger is justified and trying to hold onto the feeling itself. You’re more than a little afraid that the minute you see Bucky you’re going to forget all about confronting him and just start crying. But you didn’t spend hours curating a _fuck you, girl power_ playlist and practicing speeches in the mirror to admit defeat so quickly.

You’re standing directly opposite the glass doors, no opportunity for hiding – or for Bucky to hide from you – so you see each other the minute he approaches the door. There’s a flash of surprise on his face, quickly turned to grim resignation as he opens the door. He obviously knows you’re there to see him and he stops outside in front of you.

“Hi,” he says, avoiding your eyes and staring at his feet instead.

“Hey. Can I talk to you for a minute?” He nods, gesturing down the hall and you follow him a few feet to a small seating area, out of view of any offices. He stands back and finally makes eye contact, looking a little like he’s staring down a firing squad instead of an unarmed civilian in a fuzzy pink cardigan. You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts and remembering the plan. You ask him the big question. “Do you want me to quit?”

Bucky shakes his head almost frantically. “No, I – no,” he says. You stare at him, wait for him to continue speaking but he just stands there, hands in his pockets looking miserable. ‘No.’ That’s _all_ he can say? _No?_ No! Something inside you snaps, your carefully prepared speech dissolving in your mouth like sugar as words start to pour out of you.

“Really? Because Maria told me you didn’t want me to be reassigned so I thought we were good. But then you avoided me for days and the two times we _did_ see each other you looked like you were going to be sick and practically ran out of the room, which makes me think you’re definitely not okay with me being here.”

“I—”

“And like, okay, that’s fine, but I wish you would have just said that? Because I get it, I do. This is super weird and obviously, you didn't want to sleep with me and I know I'm not like, a supermodel or even a JC Penny catalogue model, so yeah, you wish it could have been literally anyone else but you don't have to run away from me like I have some sort of flesh-eating disease, okay?”

“That’s—”

“Because that really sucks, Bucky. And not just because I’ve had a crush on you forever or because it was my first time but because I actually really just like and respect you as a person and I know you didn’t like me even before all this so maybe you don’t believe me, but I didn’t mean for this to happen. I promise. I would _never_ try to take advantage of you – of anyone – like that and –”

“What?” he interjects sharply. It cracks through the air like a whip, finally snapping you out of whatever insanity possessed you to say all that. _To say all that._

Oh, _fuck._

“What do you mean crush? Wait, _first time_?” Bucky’s eyes are wide and he’s staring intently at your face. Your own face burns and your hands shake as you try to come up with something – _anything_ – to say. Thirty seconds ago you couldn’t shut up! The silence stretches unbearably long as Bucky stands there looking at you, waiting for you to answer him. It looks like he’s about to speak again when an alert sounds from both of your phones.

“Oh, thank God,” you breathe. It’s the unmistakable tone that signals a drop-what-you’re-doing-and-Avengers-fucking-assemble emergency. You’ve never heard a sweeter sound in your life.

Bucky holds your gaze for another moment before he swears and jogs off down the hallway, tossing you a conflicted look over his shoulder as he goes.

+++

The emergency turns out to be a false alarm; some new system Tony was working on triggered it accidentally, so you got away from Bucky _and_ nobody died. All in all, a pretty successful day.

  
Except for the part where you confessed your feelings to the man you’ve been crushing on for months and told him he was the first person you’ve ever had sex with. During what was supposed to be a mature, adult conversation where you asserted yourself calmly and professionally instead of projectile word-vomiting like the girl from The Exorcist swallowed a dictionary and spat it back up.

If there was ever a chance you and Bucky could move past what happened on the quinjet and co-exist in mutual agreement to never mention it again, it’s gone now. There’s no dramatic breakdown this time, no floods of tears or self-loathing or panic. The last week and a half has been an exhausting roller coaster of emotions and honestly, you just _can’t_ anymore.

It is what it is. It happened and there’s no going back. You can’t summon up the energy to freak out. Tomorrow you’ll go to Maria’s office and request a transfer. Maybe the UN has an opening for a secretary in Antarctica. But tonight you will wear flannel pyjamas, eat greasy pizza, and watch the Great British Bake Off, where everything is lovely and nothing hurts.

Just as you’ve finished turning your couch into a cozy oasis, laying out your softest blankets and fluffiest pillows, there’s a knock at your door. Right on time. You grab your wallet and open the door, a polite smile on your face for your usual delivery man. But that’s not who’s standing on your porch.

It’s Bucky. Pizza box balanced in one hand, the other fussing with his hair. “Hey,” he says, voice soft and almost hesitant.

You step back, silently letting him inside and shutting the door behind him. “I didn’t realize you delivered for Ronzoni’s now,” you say, cringing immediately after.

Bucky looks at the box in his hand like he forgot he was holding it. “Oh, uh, yeah, I got here the same time as the delivery guy.”

“I see that.” He hands you the box and you lay it on the floor behind you. “Thanks,” you tell him awkwardly, eyes fixed on the floor in front of you. “Look, Bucky, I’m really sor—”

“I do like you,” he blurts and your eyes flash to his, wide in shock.

_“What?”_

Bucky shifts on his feet, stands a little straighter and nods, more to himself than to you it seems. Like he’s steeling himself to face something difficult. “I _do_ like you. I’ve always liked you. Just took me a while to figure it out. It’s been a minute. Haven’t had a crush in about seventy years; I’m rusty,” he says with a sheepish smile, ducking his head and looking at you through his lashes. His smile fades. “And you’re always so nervous around me. I thought maybe you were scared of me. Or hated me, maybe, for everything I did when –”

“Oh, Bucky, _no_ ,” you can’t help but interrupt, can’t let him finish that sentence. You haven’t really processed anything else he’s said, but you can’t bear the idea of him thinking you _blamed_ him for being abused and controlled for decades.

“Yeah, I was a fucking idiot,” he says with a humourless laugh. “I know you’d never – but I didn’t then.” His face softens as he looks at you. “And even though it was ‘cause you were scared of me, I still thought you were so cute when you’d start running at the mouth. Stumbling over your words and getting all embarrassed,” he says, with a fond little smile.

You groan, hiding your face behind your hands, thinking of all the times you’ve looking like an idiot in front of him. Bucky chuckles warmly and tugs your hands down but doesn’t let them go, holding them in a loose grip.

You can’t believe this is happening. He likes you. _He likes you_ and has liked you for _months._ He likes you and he’s _holding your hands_ and staring at you with an affection you couldn’t have captured in your wildest fantasies.

Bucky’s smile turns a little wistful. “I was so jealous of everyone else. How easy you were with them. I wanted you to be like that with me, all happy and cheeky and –” he cuts himself off. “Then that fucking drug. If there was any doubt about how I felt about you that definitely made it clear. That was something else, doll.” His grip on your hands tightens before he lets them go. “You’re so – that shit you said about not being a model or whatever? I couldn’t care less. You’re perfect,” he says, voice intense. He shakes his head a little, like he’d gotten off track. “And then it hit me. This goddamn revelation for me was probably the worst moment of your life, and I fucking _liked_ it. I felt like a creep, like a fucking monster. And that’s why I avoided you. I thought I was doing you a favour, staying away. It wasn’t ‘cause I hate you or I blame you or anything. Pretty much the opposite.”

You laugh softly in disbelief, shaking your head at how _wrong_ you were. How wrong you both were, all this time. “I thought maybe it reminded you of Hydra,” you tell him. “You know, losing control, being forced to do something you didn’t want to – not that I think what we did is the same as being forced to kill people, obviously. I just mean, the principle of it –”

Bucky kindly cuts you off. “I know what you mean. But trust me,” he says. “That’s not how I feel. At all. I mean, yeah, that’s not really how I wanted things to go. I hate that that was your first time. I hate that it was my first time I can clearly remember. But I’m glad it was you. What Hydra did to me and what happened to us, what we did together – doesn’t even compare. I don’t regret it.”

And finally, with those words, spoken with such undeniable sincerity, you feel the last piece of the puzzle fit into place. Even with everything he’s already said it still felt too good to be true. Like it could be a confession and a rejection at the same time. An acknowledgement that if you’d figured it out sooner you could have been together, but you got the pieces so mixed up that there’s no sorting them out. Better to throw them away and pick a new puzzle.

“I don’t regret it either,” you tell him. “I wish it had happened differently, but I’m really, really happy it was you, Bucky.”

He looks at you, soft and sweet and a little sad and you can’t help but throw yourself at him, finally giving in to an urge you’ve felt a hundred times, wrapping your arms around his neck. He hugs you back, holding you just as tightly as you hold him. You feel warm and bright and _happy_ , bubbling over with joy that spills out of you with a giggle as you pull back just enough to look him in the face with a dopey grin.

“So… you like me?”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah, doll, you been listening?”

“I can’t believe you’ve had a crush on me for months. You never speak to me!”

Bucky snorts. “Hey, we don’t all let our anxiety spill out our mouths like you.”

You glare at him but he does have a point. “That’s fair,” you acknowledge, stepping out of the warm circle of his arms to give him a long look, crossing your arms. “So for months I thought you didn’t like me, and you thought I didn’t like you. And the whole time we were super into each other?”

  
Bucky shoves his hands in his pockets, rocks on his heels, nodding. “Yep.”

“Sounds like we’re pretty dumb, huh?”

“Sounds like we’re perfect for each other,” he says, leaning in close with a grin. You get a sudden glimpse of the charmer Bucky must have been back in the day and it takes everything you have not to kiss him.

“You wanna stay for a while?” you ask. You don’t want him to go yet, but you don’t want to keep standing up in front of your door either. “I’m watching Great British Bake Off. And you _did_ pay for the pizza so it’s technically yours.”

“You askin’ me on a date?” You think he means it to come out as flirty and confident, but he says it with a shy, boyish expression that’s somehow so much more attractive.

You nod, smiling. “Yeah, I guess so. I wish I wasn’t wearing pyjamas, but…”

“Hey, pizza and GBBO? I wish _I was_ wearing pyjamas,” he counters, picking up the pizza and letting you lead the way to the living room where he sets the box down on the coffee table.

You sit with Bucky on your couch, sharing a blanket and stuffing your faces as you talk about your favourite Bake Off contestants and it feels _right_. Feels like the start of something really, really good.

And to think, you have an evil, horny scientist to thank for all your current happiness. Welcome to the Avengers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have made it to the end - thank you for reading!!! This is definitely the piece I struggled with most and I am very open to feedback! This part is so long and so sexless lol so I’m very interested to see how it reads re: pacing, interest, cohesiveness, etc. Feel free to kudo/comment and let me know! My ask box on tumblr (same username) is also open to anons if you wanna leave feedback that way. I definitely wanna hone the skill of series-writing as I have a loooooot of ideas for longer fics.
> 
> Part 3, which will be shorter (I think!) and definitely sexier, will be out in a few days 😚


	3. don't go, the night's not over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months later, you and Bucky are ready for a second try at your first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Part 3 won’t take this long, I promise!” she said. “Part 3 will be up in a few days!” she said. She LIED. (I’m she and I’m very sorry 😂🙈) Thank you again to everyone who kudos'd, subscribed, and commented on chapters 1 and 2. You are all lovely, wonderful people and I hope you enjoy the final part of this little series 😊

Slipping off your shoes at the door to your apartment, you glance behind you at Bucky, his cheeks and nose tinted pink from a long afternoon in the summer sun. You’d spent the day together, lazing on a blanket in a secluded spot on the grounds of the compound, reading and talking and trading kisses, while Alpine roamed on her long leash nearby.

Bucky shuts the door and leans back against it but doesn’t take off his shoes or make any indication that he’s staying. And that just won’t do. Not tonight. Tonight, you have a plan. Well, an idea of a plan. Or something to talk about, at least. And step one is getting Bucky to stay over so that can happen.

“You wanna pretend to watch a movie for fifteen minutes then spend the rest of it making out?” you ask, turning to face him with a playful smile. Step one: complete.

Bucky quirks an eyebrow at you. “Last time you made me that offer you threw popcorn at me and there was no making out.” Okay, step one: _almost_ complete.

“In my defence, I didn’t realize the movie was actually going to be good. And the popcorn was because you kept asking questions!”

“That movie was _not_ good. It didn’t make any sense,” Bucky argues. “And I was promised kisses from my best girl,” he adds with an exaggerated frown that has no business looking as adorable as it does.

Forcing back a smile, you nod as though you’re giving what he said some serious thought. “You’re right. We should skip the movie and go straight to making out.”

Bucky laughs. “Sounds good to me, doll,” he says and pulls you in by the hem of your cardigan for a kiss. You feel his smile against your lips as you press him back against the door for a brief moment before pulling away and leading him to your couch.

Six months later and it still feels like a dream sometimes. You think back to that first night after the quinjet, crying on your bedroom floor, feeling like you’d just ruined your life, and maybe Bucky’s too. You think about where you are now. Standing in your apartment, flirting with Bucky Barnes, _kissing_ Bucky Barnes, all easy warmth and affection.

It feels so simple now, but it took a while to get there. After months of pointless pining and feelings that were only revealed because of a freak accident, you’d both agreed to take things slowly this time around. With inexperience, anxiety, and trauma wedged between you like a minefield, you needed to really get to know each other, to feel truly comfortable together, before adding sex back into the equation. You needed to let the haze of infatuation fall away and see what was underneath.

For a while, in those early days and weeks, you’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like this was too good to be true. Surely something would happen and everything would fall apart. You’d realize the feelings you had were built on versions of each other you’d created in your heads, that the real thing couldn’t possibly live up to the fantasy. And sure, it hasn’t been smooth sailing all the way – no relationship ever is, and you and Bucky have a few extra challenges between you that most couples don’t – but six months in you know that what you have is real, and deserving of your time and effort.

Slowly you’ve gotten to know each other, from shy smiles and stuttering conversations. To chaste kisses and sweaty palms clasped together. To where you are now, heated kisses and wandering hands, developing a language all your own and feeling more and more ready to take on whatever comes next.

Right now you’re hoping whatever comes next is you and Bucky having sex. You’ve been thinking about it seriously for the past couple of weeks and you think you’re ready now. You feel secure, in yourself and your relationship, in a way you couldn’t have imagined six months ago. You also feel super horny, in a way you _could_ (and did) imagine six months ago. It’s getting harder and harder to break away from Bucky’s touch at the end of every “movie night”, and you’re going through batteries at an unsustainable pace. Something needs to be done. (Preferably you.)

Despite the certainty you feel in your decision, you’re nervous tonight, but it’s the kind of nervous that comes from trying something new, not the horrible anxiety of constantly worrying the next thing you say or do is going to be the thing that makes Bucky realize you’re not worth the attention he’s paying you. You’re definitely glad _that_ phase has passed.

You take your time, letting the kisses deepen as Bucky gets you on your back, pressed close against you on the couch until you gather the courage to say what’s on your mind. You lean back a little more into the cushion under your head, pulling away from Bucky’s mouth slightly. Always careful never to push when you pull, he presses up on his elbows to look at you.

You huff out a nervous breath, building up to the question you want to ask. For all your confident teasing earlier, this is unfamiliar ground and you can’t help but feel apprehensive, even though you know there’s nothing to be afraid of. Sensing the tension, Bucky lifts his hand to cup your cheek, fingers pulling gently through your hair. “What?” he asks softly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Steeling for it, you look him in the eyes. “Can we – I mean, if you _want_ to – _do_ you want to? _Ugh, what is wrong with me_?” Bucky’s face is all fond amusement at your fumbling and you cringe, screwing your eyes shut, telling yourself to just _spit it out_. “Sex. Do you want to have sex?”

Your face burns and you can’t bear to open your eyes, but you feel the surprised puff of breath on your face that tells you whatever Bucky thought you were gearing up to, it wasn’t this. His weight lifts off you entirely as he sits up on the couch and you finally open your eyes. Bucky is wide-eyed and pink-cheeked from more than the sun now, and you sit up to face him fully.

You’ve spent many an evening over the last few weeks tangled together on your couch or his, trading deep, lingering kisses. Often ending up with the hard length of his cock pressed somewhere along your body, and you _know_ he can smell your arousal when it seeps into your underwear. Yet somehow it seems the idea of your physical relationship moving beyond that point seems to be a shock to Bucky.

“I mean, if you don’t want to, I totally under—”

“I want to!” he blurts, a little frantically, and you let out a nervous laugh.

“Are you sure? Because I can totally, totally wait. There’s no rush. I mean, we don’t have to have sex, like, _ever_ , if you don’t want to and –” You’re cut off by the press of Bucky’s lips against yours, quick and clumsy, a last-ditch effort to shut you up. His hands cup your jaw, tilting your head to deepen the kiss and you can’t help but moan as he slides his tongue into your mouth to trace along yours.

He pulls away after a too-brief moment but keeps his hold on your face, moving just far enough so you can see each other’s eyes. The heat you see in his gaze has your heart racing.

“Doll. _I want to_.” Each word is spoken carefully, deliberately, his voice low and slightly rough.

“Okay,” you breathe.

“Okay.”

Neither of you moves, just sitting across from each other, faces inches apart. You open your mouth to speak but realize you were about to say _okay_ again and break down in giggles instead. Bucky can’t help but join and you fall against each other, laughing yourselves breathless.

“I was thinking tonight if you wanted. But if you’re busy or something…” you say, when the laughter finally dies down.

Bucky hums, pretending to think. “My dance card’s pretty full, but I _guess_ I could squeeze you in.”

You smirk. “I mean, technically, I think I’ll be squeezing _you_ in.”

Bucky glowers at you, rolling his eyes, but you can see he’s fighting a smile. “Guess I walked right into that one, huh?”

You nod smugly. “We should probably go to my room now, right?”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

You get up, taking Bucky’s hand and leading him to your bedroom. He’s been there before, has even slept beside you in your bed, but his presence in the space feels different this time, weightier now you know he’s not just here to sleep.

Bucky seems to feel the difference too, his eyes tracing over your bed like he’s never seen it before. You follow his gaze as it catches on the small, stuffed owl given pride of place among the various pillows and cushions. He’d won it for you at a game on Coney Island and you’ve slept with it every night since, holding it tight on nights he’s away on assignment.

You have very fond memories of that date. Bucky clutching your hand in his to ground him amidst the bustling crowds. The way he’d kissed you for the first time – the first time that counted – on the ferris wheel and sighed in relief when you kissed him back. _“Woulda been a real awkward ride if you’d pushed me away,”_ he’d laughed _. “Might’ve had to jump off.”_

You reach to grab the toy off the bed. “Professor Feathersworth should probably spend the evening elsewhere.”

“Good call,” Bucky agrees.

You gently place the toy atop the laundry hamper in your closet and slide the door closed. You turn around and catch a fond look on Bucky’s face as he watches you and you walk over to him and lean in for a kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. His find their way to your waist as he walks backward, pulling you along without breaking the kiss, until his knees hit the foot of the bed. He sits and you follow, straddling his thighs as your kisses turn hungry.

Bucky trails kisses across your cheek and down your neck as your hips subtly grind down against his. He starts to tug your cardigan down your arms and you help him, shrugging it off. Your tug impatiently at the bottom of Bucky’s shirt until he lifts his arms, allowing you to pull it up and over his head.

You’ve seen his skin before, but never in this context. It’s strange to think about, but in those frantic, feverish minutes aboard the quinjet he’d been fully clothed, jeans tugged down just enough to free his cock, while you’d been completely naked. That specific memory sends a thrill through you and you file away the thought for later. Right now, you want to appreciate all the skin laid bare for you.

You trace your hands along his torso, the smooth skin and dark hair, the jagged scars. Thick pink lines branch out from his shoulder, where vibranium meets flesh. You shift back on Bucky’s lap and bend your head to press your mouth there, pressing kisses to the raised skin.

You hear his breath catch and you look up at him to find his eyes shiny and wet. You know it bothers him still sometimes – the arm and everything it means. You press another kiss where the scar tissue is thickest, murmur, “I love you,” into his skin.

You lean up, pressing another just over his heart. “I love you.” Then finally to his lips. “ _I love you_.”

Bucky surges forward against you, claiming your mouth in a deep kiss. “I love you too.”

“Good,” you whisper against his lips with a grin. “Now that’s settled…” Your hands fall to the waistband of his jeans and you unbutton them with shaky hands that betray your nerves. You maintain eye contact as you do it, waiting for Bucky to tell you to stop. He doesn’t, so you tug the zipper down as well. You go to pull at the waistband but stop when you realize you won’t make much progress. “Would probably help if I wasn’t sitting on your lap, huh?” you laugh.

Bucky grins. “Yeah, maybe.” You stand up, stepping back and giving him room to lift his hips enough to get his jeans down and off before sitting back down. He reaches for your waist to pull you in but you sink to your knees instead.

You can _see_ Bucky’s pupils dilate and his cheeks flush as he looks down at you. You’ve been thinking about this for ages and you’re hoping he’ll let you try tonight. Your heart feels like it’s in your throat and your palms sweat where they’re clasped in your lap, but you push through it. “If you want, can I maybe try going down on you?” you ask. Your face positively _burns_ as you wait for Bucky’s response.

His hands fall to curve around your cheeks. “You don’t have to, doll, really. I don’t mind,” he says and you know he means it. Bucky would never pressure you into something you didn’t want. You’d told him earlier you didn’t have to have sex ever if he didn’t want to, and you know he’d say the same to you and mean every word.

“I know, Buck. I _want_ to.”

“ _Fuck_ , I don’t know if I’ll be able to last if you put your mouth on me.”

You laugh. “I’d be more worried it’ll kill the mood entirely. I’ve never done this before, remember? It’s going to be horrible.”

Bucky chuckles and shakes his head. “My dick’s gonna be in your mouth, sweetheart. So long as you don’t bite it off, I think I’m gonna like it.”

Your cheeks heat and you lower your eyes. “You should probably take your underwear off now.”

  
Bucky nods then reaches behind him to grab a cushion. “For your knees,” he tells you, a little bashful, and for some reason it fills you up with soft affection, has you leaning up to press a quick, firm kiss to his lips before settling the cushion underneath you.

You don’t watch as he removes his underwear, looking away until you see them land somewhere in the corner of your vision. _This_ part of him you’ve only seen once, and you didn’t have much time to study it then. You were too busy begging him to put it inside you.

Now, resting on your knees, you have a perfect view of Bucky’s half-hard cock rising up from dark curls. You just look at first, almost clinical in your curiosity. Your focused stare seems to have some effect on Bucky because you watch him fill and firm, untouched, right in front of your face.

“Neat,” you breathe out and Bucky laughs, loud and surprised. You look up at him, mock-offended. “ _What?_ I’ve never seen this in person before – it’s cool, okay?”

“‘In person?’” he repeats, smirking, and _of course_ that’s what he’d pick up on. “You telling me my girl likes watching dirty movies?” He’s teasing you, enjoying how you stutter and fumble over your response.

“Listen, _Barnes_ ,” you sputter out. “We didn’t all grow up in the stone age when you had to carve your own pornography into cave walls.” Bucky snorts. “Some of us had easily accessible, free porn available. And if you don’t shut up you’re not gonna get to experience my horrible attempt at a blowjob!”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, holding up his hands in defeat.

Feeling cheeky and brave, you lean forward suddenly and lick a thick line up his cock, base to tip, wiping the amused little grin right off his face. He stutters out a moan at the startling contact. “Fuck, doll, warn a guy.”

“Payback,” you smirk.

“If that’s your idea of revenge, remind me to tease you more often.”

You roll your eyes at him and grip his cock at the base, ready to seriously try now.

You have to admit, it does feel like a _job_ , but not necessarily one you dislike, just one that takes time and practice to master. His cock feels heavy on your tongue, and the pre-cum that spills from the tip is bitter but not as bad as you thought it might be.

You do gag a few times, but Bucky doesn’t push you to take more than you’re able and you focus your attention around the first couple inches, stroking your fingers over the rest. He holds his hand over yours at first, showing you how to touch him – how tightly to grip, how to twist your wrist just how he likes. You’re grateful for the instruction, and something about the feeling of his hand – warm and firm over your own, the way it brushes against your lips – sends a rush of arousal through your body.

You try to be mindful of your teeth, but there are definitely a few accidental grazes. You pull off every time to apologize profusely, but Bucky just strokes a thumb over your cheek and tells you not to worry so much, that you’re doing a good job. His praise floods you with pleasure that seeps down your body to settle in your cunt.

He guides you through it, gentle and encouraging, one hand resting in your hair, not tugging or pulling, just stroking softly through the strands. You like the way his fingers clench slightly, almost uncontrollably, when you do something that must really feel good. It sends a burst of pride through you each time.

It takes a while, but eventually, you sink into something resembling a comfortable rhythm, steady and even. You glance up occasionally to find Bucky’s eyes on you, heavy and hooded as he watches you work.

“Fuck, doll, just like that.” His voice is rough, breathy and low, and you’re shocked back to that cabin on the quinjet, that little image you’d had of him saying that exact phrase, and you can’t help but let out a moan. His reaction to the vibrations running through his cock is divine. He groans, flesh hand clenching in your hair, the other gripping the bedspread. “Oh, fuck. I’m gonna come soon,” he tells you, so you pull off, not sure you’re ready to try swallowing just yet. You leave one hand stroking over his length, just how he showed you, until it happens.

You keep your eyes trained on Bucky’s face as he comes, thirstily drinking in his expression as he thrusts up into your grip. His eyes slip shut and his mouth falls open in a low moan. He’s beautiful, open and vulnerable and raw, and you feel powerful knowing it’s because of you. You stroke him through his orgasm until he’s twitching from the sensitivity. You press one last kiss to the tip, getting a hint of cum on your lips that you lick away under Bucky’s heated stare.

“So,” you start, grinning at the way Bucky seems to struggle to pull his gaze from your mouth to look you in the eyes. “How’d I do?”

He swears softly, glancing down at the mess on his stomach, then back to your lips. “You did good, sweetheart,” he says, fingers settling gently on your face, working over the soreness in your jaw.

You sigh happily and your thighs clench but you pull yourself to your feet, ducking down to kiss Bucky on the nose. “Back in a sec,” you tell him, darting to the bathroom to tidy up, coming back with a wet washcloth for him.

All cleaned up, Bucky tugs you back onto his lap, pressing kisses to your cheeks and forehead. His hands brush against the hem of your dress, rucked up your thighs from their spread over his hips. “Can I?” he asks, pushing the fabric up just an inch before stopping.

You nod your permission and he slowly drags the hem up your legs until it’s gathered at your waist. He pauses again, looking at your face and you nod, raising your arms. He pulls the dress over your head, letting it fall to the floor, leaving you almost completely bare before him.

It’s strange, and not what you expected, but you’re not uncomfortable even under Bucky’s intense stare. His eyes trace over your form, over your thighs and the place between them, up your belly to your breasts. Your nipples harden from the chill of the room and the warmth of his attention. You don’t feel confident exactly, but not shy either.

Just like the first time, your legs are unshaven, your panties are plain cotton, and you’re not bothered by either. But this time it’s not the influence of some strange, experimental drug. This time, you’re simply happy and in love, certain that Bucky loves you back, loves you _best_ just as you are, not trying to be who you think he might want.

And if the hardening length pressed up against you is anything to go by, he doesn’t need you to be hairless as a shark and wearing Victoria’s most uncomfortable secret to find you attractive.

His hands follow the path of his eyes, thumbs stroking gently over your skin and settling under the curves of your breasts. Carefully monitoring your expression he glides his thumbs over your nipples. The skin of the right catches and drags a little in the nicest way, while the left is smooth and cool.

Bucky leans in to kiss you as his hands continue to toy with your body. Soft circles around your nipples, cupping your breasts and feeling the weight in his palms. You gasp into his mouth at the first gentle pinch of his fingers on your nipples, the sensation flowing directly to your clit. Your hips grind down against him and you feel him buck up to meet you.

Pulling you off his lap, Bucky rearranges so you lie on your back with him pressed along your side, leaning up on his elbow. His right hand glides down your belly, stopping at the waistband of your panties.

“Is this okay?”

“Please,” you breathe, nodding.

Bucky’s fingers slip into your underwear. “Tell me if you want me to stop, or do something else,” he says, waiting for your nod before continuing. He strokes over your folds, dipping two fingers into your opening and groaning at the slick there, gathering it on his fingers and dragging it up to your clit.

He makes light, unhurried circles and it feels good, nice, but not quite _enough_. Thinking of how he’d shown you what to do earlier, you let your hand rest on top of his. Bucky stills immediately and you feel him start to pull away.

You stop him with a gentle grip on his wrist. “No, wait,” you murmur. “It’s good, it’s just –” You guide his fingers back to your clit, pressing down until the pressure’s right. “And maybe –” You nudge so it’s just one finger resting against your clit.

Bucky nods, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Got it,” he says. And he does, finger moving around your clit until you’re breathing heavily in gasps and pants before stopping to tug your panties off. You don’t have time to feel nervous about being completely exposed to him because he’s touching you again, just how you showed him but faster now, as his lips press along your neck.

In just a few more moments you’re coming, hips arching up into Bucky’s hand as you moan. He strokes you through your orgasm, letting up when you twitch away from his fingers.

He kisses your cheek then slides his lips down to your open, panting mouth, slipping his tongue inside. “How’d I do?” he mimics as he pulls back. He’s smirking, the little shit, but his eyes are earnest.

“Not bad,” you say casually, like your heart isn’t racing still.

Bucky’s smirk splits into an evil grin and his fingers wriggle into your sides, tickling you. “Not bad, huh? You sure about that, doll?” You howl with laughter and try to squirm away from him, admitting defeat.

“Fine, fine! It was wonderful, _amazing_ , life-changing!” you shout through yelps and squeals as his fingers continue their assault on your ticklish skin.

Bucky nods, stilling his hands. “Yeah, that sounds more like it.” You roll your eyes fondly as he shifts and you feel him smile against your lips as he leans down to kiss you, filthy and deep, reigniting the heat between your thighs.

“You wanna keep going?” he asks, pulling back just enough to say the words against your lips.

You nod, eagerly. “Yes, definitely.” You know things are moving fast, especially after six months of nothing more than kissing and cuddling, but you _want_ him. You’re ready and you don’t want to go another night wondering what he’ll feel like inside you without that stupid aphrodisiac making everything hazy and blurred.

Bucky moves to rest his weight between your spread thighs and you feel the length of his cock press against your pussy. You can’t help but roll your hips a little, feeling the slick slide of it against your clit, still sensitive from your orgasm. Bucky moans into your mouth and you feel his hand slide between your bodies. You think he’s going to guide himself inside but he lifts his hips instead, muttering a curse.

“Almost forgot. D’you have a condom?” he asks.

You’d forgotten too, actually. You aren’t planning on using one tonight – if Bucky agrees, of course – but you’re glad he remembered and spoke up. You’ve heard too many stories from your friends of guys pressuring them not to use protection and even though you know Bucky’s not like that, it’s nice to have proof.

“I do have condoms,” you tell him. “But I’ve also been on birth control for a while now and I know neither of us has anything, so I thought maybe we could _not_ use a condom? If you’re okay with that.”

The pink flush on Bucky’s cheeks deepens. “Yeah, I’m okay with that,” he says, voice a little ragged. His right hand slides between your bodies, two fingers pressing against your entrance. “Gotta open you up, doll. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You nod your head, shuddering out a response as his fingers slip inside. It feels so _good_ , his fingers stretching your walls. He adds a third and thrusts gently, keeping his eyes on your face, looking for any sign of discomfort.

You whine a little when you feel his fingers pulling out but gasp as they’re replaced with the thick head of his cock. He slides the tip up through your folds a few times, slicking himself up before letting it rest just at your opening.

Your eyes clench shut as you wait for the sweet relief filling you up but it doesn’t come. “Look at me,” Bucky orders softly and you open your eyes to find his fixed on yours, serious and intent. “Tell me if it hurts, or if you wanna stop or slow down, whatever.” You nod, eager to feel him inside you. “I’m serious, doll. You wanna stop at any point, _you say so_ , I won’t be mad or anything.”

“I know, Buck. I will, promise. I love you. I _trust_ you.” You hold his face in your hands, keeping his gaze. “And that goes for you too,” you add. “We can stop any time.” Bucky nods and the tension eases from his expression.

You feel his cock slide against you again before finally you feel it press inside. He enters you with slow, careful thrusts, going deeper each time. You’d started off trading deep, soft kisses, but by the time his cock is entirely buried in your cunt, you’re mostly just breathing into each other’s mouths.

Bucky pauses, holding himself still inside you, letting you get used to the weight and pressure. For as much as the drug had heightened every sensation, it’s somehow so much more intense without it. Nothing to dull the stretch, nothing to cloud your mind with only thoughts of _more_. Before, there had only been lust and the uncontrollable drive to overcome it.

Now, there’s nothing to distract from the weight of Bucky’s body on top of yours, skin to skin, pressed so closely you can feel his heart beating against your chest. When he finally begins to move, it’s with slow, even strokes, face pressed into the curve of your neck.

The sensations are almost overwhelming. The first time had been _good_ , had been more pleasure than you knew could be experienced. But this is something else entirely. As grateful as you are that it was Bucky with you on that quinjet, you’re not sure how much it would have mattered once the chemical kicked in. By the time you were tearing your own clothes off, you weren’t really thinking about _Bucky_ at all, just what he could do to your body.

Now there’s a connection. Now you know what he looks like when he sleeps. How he sounds when he’s angry, or scared. How he can’t help but mouth the words with his lips when he reads, and how he can sing along to Taylor Swift just as well as you can.

All those little details that add up to the person you love. It makes this more than sex, more than just bodies moving together for their own pleasure.

  
For as much as the term makes you cringe, you finally understand what it means to make love. You’ll be damned if the phrase comes out of your mouth in anything approaching sincerity, but you _get it_.

You and Bucky move together, your hips rocking to meet his thrusts, legs wrapped tightly around his waist. He feels so good inside you, his cock moving in a smooth glide. Time and space seem to drift away until it’s just you and Bucky and the heat building in your core, ratcheting you higher and higher with every thrust.

Bucky pants above you, his hips moving faster against yours as he nears his own climax. His hand moves to your clit, finger circling just right as his thrusts start to lose their rhythm. You feel it when he comes, moaning out above you, pushing deep inside you as his cock pulses. He keeps up the motion on your clit and it’s only a few moments before you’re following, pussy clenching around him as you gasp, your head thrown back against the pillows.

You lie there for a few moments, Bucky’s body heavy on top of you, his breath hot on your neck as he grinds against you lazily, pulling the last aftershocks of pleasure from you both. Eventually, his cock softens inside you and he pulls out, pressing a kiss to your lips before turning over onto his back. You roll over on your side to face him, taking in his appearance. His messy hair and red cheeks, his kiss-swollen lips and the glisten of sweat on his chest and arms. He looks fucking obscene. If your bones didn’t feel like jello you’d probably be climbing on top of him for round two.

Neither of you speaks, and you take a moment in the silence to do a quick emotional inventory. You suspect Bucky is doing the same. After all, it wasn’t the _during_ that went wrong the first time, it was the _after_. You’re very pleased to note that emotionally, you feel just fine. Better than fine. You feel _happy_. Happy you took this leap, happy to be lying boneless and satisfied next to Bucky, looking forward to countless evenings ahead of you just like this.

There’s no shame or anxiety or regret, and the absence of all those horrible emotions that consumed you after the first time has you feeling almost giddy. You can’t help the wide grin that forms on your face or the joy that bursts out of you in a laugh. Bucky’s head turns toward you at the sound, and he looks at you with a matching grin and questioning brow. Giving you space to lead the way.

“Well,” you start, schooling your expression into something more serious, to middling success. “I don’t know about you, but I think that went pretty well.” You’re teasing, and you’re pretty sure he feels the same, but you really do want to check in.

Luckily, your suspicions are correct. Bucky huffs out a short laugh, settling into a soft smile. “No complaints from me, doll,” he says, sincere and playful all at once.

You lean in for a kiss, smiling against his mouth. Bucky tugs you closer, holding your face in his hands and licking into your mouth, slow and sweet. “I mean seriously, Barnes, that was some excellent teamwork.”

“Yeah, a real A+ effort.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Could probably use some more data though, before we jump to any conclusions.”

“Right,” Bucky nods thoughtfully. “Really ought’a increase the sample size before we make any judgments.”

“Exactly!” you say, just as your stomach lets out a loud, extended growl, practically echoing in the space between your bodies. You grimace. “Maybe after some takeout.”

“God, yes,” he groans. “I’m fucking starving.”

+++

An hour later you and Bucky are eating pizza on your couch, watching reruns of the Great British Bake Off. Exactly like that first night six months ago, and completely different, too.

Six months ago it was all polite conversation and careful distance, tip-toeing around each other, so protective of the delicate new _something_ you’d just discovered together.

Now, Bucky’s feet are on your lap and you reach over him to steal peppers from his pizza. You talk over and around each other and when silence falls, it’s comfortable. You eat with all the grace of the Hulk assembling a jigsaw puzzle and Bucky belches just to see you glare in response.

If building a relationship is like building a house, you and Bucky are laying the foundation. You’re still protective of each other, of that not-new-but-still-fresh _something_ , but it doesn’t feel so delicate anymore. The foundation feels solid beneath you. Strong enough to be tested and made stronger still in the aftermath. Strong enough to build on and solid enough to remain even if rough winds blow everything else away.

After all, it was rough winds that brought you together in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END. I hope this was a satisfying ending to this Bucky and Reader’s story. Feel free to leave a kudo or comment and let me know what you thought! I’m very open to feedback, especially since this is my first multi-part work. (I’ve definitely learned that I want to have things completely written before I start posting next time lol.)

**Author's Note:**

> And that’s the end of chapter one! Feel free to leave a kudos and/or comment and let me know what you thought! I spent a truly ridiculous amount of time trying to figure out the whole sex pollen aspect and I’m still not totally happy with it hahah but I hope it doesn’t seem too shoe-horned in 😝 Anything else that you’d like to see tagged for, let me know!! Part 2 will be out next week!
> 
> I'm also posting to Tumblr in case you prefer to read there 😀


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